


Sweet Dreams (are made of these)

by gay_possum_god



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Christmas, Dreams and Nightmares, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-10 04:51:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18653266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gay_possum_god/pseuds/gay_possum_god
Summary: And Baz didn’t think. He just felt Snow’s warm, chapped lips against his and blocked out the fact that his father, who was asleep in the next room would be so disappointed if he knew what his son was dreaming about. He let his fingers gently twirl in Snow’s curls and didn’t think about how their families would always hate each other. He rubbed his thumb gently over Snow’s warm cheek and didn’t think about the fact that someday Snow was probably going to kill him. Baz let himself feel how amazing it was to even dream of kissing Snow and didn’t think about anything but that.(Baz's dreams about Simon)





	1. October—5th year

Blood had been a recurring theme in Baz’s dreams as of late. Blood and death. So it was no surprise to Baz when he found himself dreaming that he was wandering through the catacombs under the school ankle deep in rat blood. (Baz had seen more than enough of both the catacombs and blood in the past few months to have to wonder what they were.) He didn’t have his wand with him, but it didn’t matter because dream logic meant that he always had just enough light to see what was around him.

Baz wandered by himself for what could have been minutes or hours, turning corners at random and feeling the blood of thousands of rats’ seeping through his shoes and then his socks.

But then he began to hear splashing behind him. At first it was hard to tell if it was just the echo of his own footsteps or if there was somebody else, but soon he knew. The footsteps were speeding up, running towards him. Baz picked up his own pace, careful because he couldn’t see where his feet were falling.

The faster he went though, the faster the footsteps behind him became. There were more of them now, too. Baz couldn’t tell how many of them there were, but there were at least two. Then three. Then there had to have been at least a half dozen.

Baz knew where he was running was not part of the actual catacombs under the school anymore, but it didn’t know, because he could hear his blood rushing and feel his heart beating in his chest, and he knew in that moment more than anything that he had to get away.

The dream light with no source was slowly getting dimmer. The blood was going from cherry, to cerise, to crimson. Then he couldn’t see any color, and it was just dark fluid beneath his feet. Then he was running in darkness until the catacombs faded all together.

Baz found himself sitting cross legged on a bed in his pajamas. Also sitting cross legged on the bed, facing Baz, wearing pajamas (school issued) was Snow. Snow leaned in closer and brought a hand to Baz’s arm.

“It’s okay; you’re here now,” Snow said, and that’s when Baz knew he was dreaming, because Snow would never comfort him. (Or sit on Baz’s bed in his pajamas.)

But Baz’s heart was just slowing down in his chest and his fear was beginning to ebb away, so he said, “I’m fine,” and leaned into Snow’s touch just a little.

Snow’s grip on his arm was slightly more firm now, but still comforting. Baz could feel the calluses rubbing against his skin. Snow’s hands were always calloused from swinging his sword. His nails were also short from being bitten down. On the back of his right hand he had two moles: one at the base of his thumb and one on his third knuckle. Until this moment, Baz hadn’t realized he’d known that.

Baz’s gaze traveled slowly back from Snow’s hands to his face. Snow smiled at him.

“You know you are allowed to touch me too, right?” Snow said, and if Baz hadn’t been sure he was dreaming before, he definitely was then.

But still, he let his left hand trace its way up the arm Snow was using to connect them. Baz settled his hand on Snow’s cheek, slowly and gently tracing circles with his thumb. The fear from earlier was completely gone, but had been replaced by a new buzz in his chest. All he could think about was how warm Snow was and how soft his skin was and how he wanted to trace his moles like constellations.

Baz might have, except at that moment Snow and the bed dissolved, and Baz found himself back in the catacombs under the school, this time up to his knees in blood, with a dozen footsteps behind him.

So Baz ran. And he kept on running till he was woken up by Snow rolling out of bed and thudding to the floor loudly at six in the bloody morning. Still, Baz was no closer to knowing what any of it meant, and he couldn’t get it out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When this was originally posted, Simon was referred to as Simon. I changed it to Snow because that's what Baz calls him. Nothing else has been changed.


	2. December—5th Year

By the time Baz found himself tucked into his own bed on Christmas eve, he was certain of two things: the best part of boarding school was not having your siblings there and that he felt something for Snow that he shouldn’t.

Baz was exhausted from a long day of babysitting Mordelia, who was far faster than any small child had the right to be, and fell asleep almost instantly.

Since October, Snow had found his way into Baz’s regular dream topics along with blood and death, and that night was no exception.

Baz knew he was dreaming for two reasons. The first one was that the fire place in his bedroom was ablaze, even though he hadn’t lit it since he’d gotten home. The second was that Snow lay curled up next to Baz, close enough that Baz would have been able to find every one of Snow’s moles in the dim light of the fire, even if Baz didn’t have them memorized.

“Happy Christmas,” Snow whispered to him.

“Weren’t you supposed to go to Agatha’s?”

Snow shrugged as best he could while lying on his side under four layers of blankets. “I wanted to be with you.”

Baz felt his stomach swoop with euphoria. He tried to pull the feeling away by reminding himself that it was just a dream, and he couldn’t feel that way. But it didn’t work. It never worked. Baz always felt this way around Snow, no matter what he told himself.

So when Snow leaned in, Baz moved his hand from under the covers to rest gently on the back on Snow’s head, and kissed him.

And Baz didn’t think. He just felt Snow’s warm, chapped lips against his and blocked out the fact that his father, who was asleep in the next room would be so disappointed if he knew what his son was dreaming about. He let his fingers gently twirl in Snow’s curls and didn’t think about how their families would always hate each other. He rubbed his thumb gently over Snow’s warm cheek and didn’t think about the fact that someday Snow was probably going to kill him. Baz let himself feel how amazing it was to even dream of kissing Snow and didn’t think about anything but that.

Snow pulled back gently and gazed into Baz’s eyes. Baz had the exact hue of Snow’s eyes memorized, and his dream nailed it perfectly.

“Can I have hot chocolate?” Snow asked, and Baz giggled (which was slightly embarrassing, but it was a dream, so no one real could hear him.)

“In the morning,” Baz replied, because he didn’t want to leave the bed.

“With marshmellows?”

“However you want it, Snow,” Baz told him and leaned back in.

Their lips had just touched when Baz was yanked from his dream by his door being thrown open.

“Baaaaz! It’s Christmas!” Mordelia shouted at him from the doorway.

“Merlin!” Baz groaned, rubbing his eyes against the pale blue of the early morning light, “Would it kill you to knock for once?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was told at one point that British people say "Happy Christmas," but that could easily be wrong. Tell me if I'm wrong. Also, I don't know when the next update will be, but I've started it.


	3. April—5th Year

It was that point in spring where everyone still brought their sweaters with them, but didn’t need them. The sun had started peaking through the clouds, and it was warm but not hot. There were still light sprinkles of rain but none big enough to leave large puddles.

Baz was standing by the pitch with Snow. Snow was talking about something, but Baz wasn’t listening to what he was saying. Baz was busy watching the way the spring sun shone brightly off of Snow’s hair and the way Snow’s moles moved on his cheeks as he spoke.

Then, over Snow’s shoulder, Baz saw Phillipa. She was standing under the shadows of a tree holding a tape recorder that Baz knew too well.

Baz wanted to say something. To scream. To warn Snow. To stop Phillipa. But he was stuck in place and his mouth was sealed shut. All he could do was stand there.

Snow’s voice sounded like it was being pulled out of his mouth. It was like listening to a casse tape being rewinded by a child. Snow let his mouth hang open like a fish gasping out of water and was clutching his throat, but he couldn’t pull his voice back in.

“Baz,” he mouthed, but Baz couldn’t help him.

Baz could only watch Snow panic, his mouth opening like he was screaming, but no sound coming out.

Baz woke up shaken. His hands were shaking and his whole body felt too light. It had only been a week since the incident, and he had had a nightmare every night.

He turned over to face Snow’s side of the room.

The real Snow was still asleep in his bed. He was curled in a ball, his knees brought up almost to his chin and his arms around his head and pillow. He was probably deep in a nightmare of his own, but he was safe for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for this super angsty chapter, but it should be mostly fluff from now on.

**Author's Note:**

> My goal is to keep this going up to the beginning of Carry On. Also, I'm not entirely sure about the timing of 5th year, so I'm just kinda assigning months to certain things.


End file.
